


I am In Great Pain...

by DeathDirt



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Drug Use, Gen, Implying of Suicide, Substance Abuse, Suicide mention
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-08-19
Packaged: 2018-07-26 04:28:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7560130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeathDirt/pseuds/DeathDirt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been a good month for the Smith family, one member in particular. Rick has been away from drugs, had a better personality for it, and yet, something isn't quite right. He's fine, though. He's always been fine. Rick's not gonna let this get to him...</p><p> </p><p>Right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. No Drugs, More Pain

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first multichap R&M fic, so...constructive criticism, please? I'll do the first 5 chapters all in succession, with 1 today, 2 tomorrow, so on and so forth. Please give me some advice on this!! Anyway, Rick and Morty don't belong to me, they belong to the amazing minds of Dan Harmon and Justin Roiland, enjoy!

Long nights in the garage were nothing for Rick. Over the years he spent hopping dimensions, trading with alien assassins, and fleeing from federation police, he'd gotten his biological clock set on an interdimensionally accepted 40-10 sleep schedule. But for whatever reason, the past few weeks had been hell on his system. Watching IDTV didn't help much, it only gave him a headache. Morty's high pitched voice did him no favors, either. And now, at the slightest hint of an argument from Beth and Jerry, he would snap and pull out his gun to shut them up.

Normally, he would just brush it off and muddle it up with alcohol. But it didn't quite feel...appropriate? Legal? Fitting? Whatever the hell the word was. After an hour or so of reviewing his behavior and mannerisms over the past few months, he'd come to the conclusion that these things were all just a symptom of withdrawal - he had done less drugs, and even abstained altogether for the better part of the previous month. It wasn't exactly unlikely. Between the absence of weed, killaxian crystal powder, and other unregulated bad shit, he was probably healthier than he'd been in years. Granted, he still drank, but that was nothing considering he'd been on the bottle before he even left his parents.

But it had been going on for weeks, and the symptoms were still there. If anything, they got worse. Hell, he was on the edge even without the presence of any family. So if the withdrawal wasn't making him hyped up, then what was? That was the question Rick contemplated as he tinkered with the cybernetic mind of a cyborg rat pup he'd slapped together. It was only half done, but Rick knew he could finish it within the next fifteen minutes if he really wanted to. However, as per usual when he had something semi-existential on his mind, he needed a distraction.

As he reached for his flask, the door handle jiggled and pushed open, with Morty entering. "H-H-Hey, Rick, you okay?"  
"Y-Yeah, M-ORRGH-ty, I'm doing great. The hell do you need, I'm working on something that's probably infinitely more - URP - more important than whatever it is you want." Morty hovered in the doorframe, considering how much more it would benefit either of them if he just left, but despite his better judgement, he stepped in and closed the door. "Wha-whatcha making Rick?"

The genius ignored his grandson, grabbing his flask and emptying it into his gullet. "Move it, dipshit. I'm fuckin' - UURRP - busy. Un-un-unless you want somethin', get the fuck out." Rick tapped the eye piece of the rodent, currently unattached to its own body, then began to sift through a pile of spare parts on the floor next to him in hopes that Morty would get the hint. He did, unfortunately. Morty rubbed his arm, then turned and went back into the house. For once the idiocy was something Rick liked for more than the camouflage.


	2. Up All Night to Get High

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's an old buddy Rick decided needs visiting. Quite frankly...it's down to the last resort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, please, PLEASE, this chapter is filled with drug refs and I hope they kinda make sense. I have some pretty basic drug knowledge, both pertaining to IRL and R&M, but still...I'm nervous.

Now the lack of sleep was catching up to him. Rick was finding himself fazing in and out of consciousness at breakfast the next morning, and one time he came back with his head dangerously close to his food. "Shit, Beth, gonna haft-UUUGH, gonna hafta call it here. Great breakfast as always." Jerry and Summer, oblivious as ever, simply ignored the odd excusal, but Morty and Beth had a bit more of an inclination of a problem. "Dad? Are you doing alright? Need some coffee?"  
"Beth, sweetie, coffee only makes things worse when a guy's sick, why not give it to Jerry. He might get some more brain cells from the caffeine." Rick chuckled as he walked out the door to the garage. At least messing with the less than mediocre son-in-law was still fun. 

But that, unfortunately, was the end of it. When he got into the garage, for as full as it was, it felt oddly empty. Pointless. Like everything did now and then. This was why he usually needed some drugs to get a high and get those thoughts out of his head. But since he was left with alcohol, that's what he turned to. He grabbed the nearest full bottle of beer and started to chug it down. Before he could think twice about it, the genius had emptied the bottle. Rick tossed it down on the floor, landing with a sharp clink of glass on concrete. He knew it wouldn't be long before the floor would be cluttered with bottles and cans. That's just what happened when he got into a funk like this, simply a fact of life he'd accepted long ago.

Though...grabbing some K-Lax would definitely help... "Y'know what? Fuck this whole staying off drugs thing. I am gettin' myself high tonight." Rick pulled out the portal gun and shot open a portal. He knew just the guy. Shit, when did he not? 

The seedy bar he'd hopped in front of was one he was all too familiar with. Drug dealers always loved going for the slums. Stepping inside was nothing short of nirvana. To start, the whole place was permeated with either the odor of liquor or all kinds of drugs, between weed, k-lax, powder shim, and a few others that just blended in rather well. That was as good an indicator as any. For another thing, he saw who he was looking for, good old Scaley. A humanoid reptile with a limp frill hanging around his neck and clawed fingers. He was wearing a simple black jacket and close fitting pants that were stuffed into - for the untrained eyes at least - gloves over his feet. As if to overcompensate for the simplicity of his outfit, the reptile also had luminescent green scales.

"Gharr, you sick fucker! How's it goin'?!" The black slits flicked over to the human and the blocky face stretched out into a grin. "Riiiiick, my man! Haven't seen you in forever, you bastard." The human rolled his eyes with a slight smile. He didn't mind the doped up lizard boy as much as most people. Obviously, because otherwise he would've shot the guy and taken all his drugs long ago. "So, what ya after today, Ricky boy?"  
"Everything, Scales. I need everything I can get for all these." 

Rick threw three bags marked with a flurbo sign on it, each one filled to the brim. Gharr leaned forward and pulled the opening of one of the bags, eyes instantly widening into orbs. The alien cleared his throat before sending a wary glance towards Rick. "You...you're sure you want everything you can get?"  
"Yes, you green ass - URP - fuck. Now show me what the hell you have so I can go home and get my high."


	3. Pests Keep Coming Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to hit the drugs! Except...a certain grandson is starting to get a little concerned. For good reason, of course. But Rick honestly could care less about his grandson than about the happy medicine he just bought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapters a little dialogue heavy and it's a little early in the morning, but I'll keep working on it! Once again, if you have any cc to give, I'd love to hear it

"Hey, Rick, um... Oh geez, well, I-I-I was wondering, if y'know, maybe, maybe you've got some kind of alien to capture, or-or maybe some alien fruits to get?" Rick hurriedly shoved the acquired drugs under his desk, throwing a venomous glare towards his grandson. "Wh-what do you mean, Morty? Ar-are you not satisfied sitting at home? Is home -URGH - not okay? Do you have a problem with being here?" Morty took a few steps back, more than a little scared of this oddly aggressive tone. "Um...R-R-Rick, wh-what's going on? Are-are you doing okay?"  
"Okay, okay, o-o-URRRGH-okay?! What's the problem, Morty? What's the point of asking if I keep not answering?!" The youth hunched his shoulders forward at Rick's outburst. He had not quite been prepared for something like that, and though it happened, Morty didn't usually expect it on a regular basis. 

"S-Sorry Rick, it's just...y'know, you've been looking kinda bummed out, and I mean, I-I mean, I didn't know if, I dunno, you maybe wanted to go out to relax a bit." Rick maintained his glare, head lowering slightly. He had really looked forward to using up what he'd bought right away to get rid of all the symptoms of whatever the hell was going on with him. Wouldn't that have been nice? If only Morty hadn't fucking walked in... "Look, Morty, just get the fuck out, okay? I don't need to be interrupted right now... Go-go mess around with your damn sister or something." The smell of his acquired narcotics was beginning to mess with him, being so near, yet he had to keep away from them or else he might have to undergo...a god damn intervention. He'd been through one before. It was awful, forceful, and he had hated every second of it.

Rick stared at Morty, who just stood, rooted to the spot and completely silent. "Ahem. Morty. L-URRRP-leave. Y'know, like...now?"  
"But...R-Rick, are you sure there's nothing to go out and do? Like, e-even just, y'know, just visiting...Blips and Chitz I guess?" The scientist sighed deeply in response. He just wanted the stupid k-lax, or fractal powder, or whatever the hell he got, he already couldn't remember what he had grabbed. God, this little turd was just so stupid sometimes. "Alright, Morty, fine, bu-UUGGGH if we go, I'm warning you, I have no flurbos. We are drop dead fucking broke."  
"Wh-what?! Rick! H-h-how could you be totally broke?!"  
"I think it's pretty obvious, M-ORRRGH- Morty. I spent all my flurbos."  
"On what, Rick?! What could you possibly buy with two and a half thousand flurbos?! We-we could've spent that on games, and-and stuff!"  
"Yeah? Well guess what, Morty?! It's my f-UUUGH-cking money to begin with, I just do whatever I damn well please with it! Self-righteous turd." Lots of things swirled around in Morty's head - mostly anger. He only wanted Rick to be happy, but still he insisted on doing things like this. It made it insanely hard to keep his cool under pressure.

So Morty relieved himself of the pressure. He quickly turned and exited the garage, slamming the door a little harder than he meant to. With the kid gone, Rick reached for the hidden drugs, but thought better of it, instead rising out of his chair to follow Morty.


	4. Shower, Then Distraction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick's starting to lose it. He's had a rough time coping with whatever it is he's dealing with. Maybe a pep talk with Morty will help. ...Maybe not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the last chapter including this one, but it should be fixed. As always, constructive criticism appreciated!

A shower certainly helped Morty feel a bit better, but it didn't at all eliminate the fact that his grandfather was acting strangely. Rick had some odd quirks, but some of them, Morty expected. He was old. Probably seen his fair share of some shit. Especially if he was an interdimensional traveler. But his behavior as of late was distant and, frankly, un-Rick-ish. To Morty at least.

He had no clue how the rest of his family saw the issue. Morty delivered his dirty clothes to the hamper outside the bathroom, then delivered himself to his room. In the dark, he couldn't see anything, but he flicked the light switch to see Rick sitting on his bed, staring into the wall as if it were a fascinating foreign species. The only thing wrong about his figure was the absence of a bottle - a strange and rare sight, indeed. "O-Oh hey, Rick... D-did you end up changing your mind on the trip?" No response was given, not even an acknowledgment to the youth's presence. 

Morty inches towards his bed, sitting lightly next to his grandfather. "Rick? Y-you...feeling good?" Still no response. Morty wasn't new to the silent treatment, especially not from Rick, who often times ignored the teen's presence for hours as they flew around in the dark of space, to instead study a map of planets, or read through reports of criminal or unusual sightings. After the initial question and response - or lack thereof - Morty sat in total, awkward, encompassing silence. Rick wasn't usually in the house for much other than TV and food, so this was a little weird. Maybe he was trying to, in his own, Rick-diculous way, to reach out. But, looking back on all the opportunities he'd had prior to this, Morty really doubted that that was the case. 

"H-Hey, Rick? Are you gonna, like...y'know, stay in here, a-a-all night, or what?"  
"Doubtf-URGH-doubtful. I only came in here because the garage stinks all to hell."  
"O-oh...okay."  
"...Morty, I gotta go m-m-meet a guy out in a planet on the Hergka system, ready to go?"  
"Really? Um...I dunno, Rick, it's kinda late, and, y'know, I'm not sure I should be going out after I just got out of the shower, an-an-and I'm just really tired...y'know?" Rick groaned and shook his head. "You know I - URRP - don't, Morty. Stop being such a bitch." Despite his sharp tongue, Rick had really only asked because he wanted to have an excuse to get away from the intoxicating aroma coming from under his desk, maybe make the high that much better.

Or maybe he was just being stupid. Probably just him being stupid.

Rick groaned as he stood, mumbling another insult under his breath while walking out. The slender hands curled into fists, hidden in the pockets of his lab coat, almost ready to set fire to all the dulling substances. But, what use would that be? Better to just use them instead. If someone found him passed out, who gave a shit? Rick certainly didn't. He did want to try and amplify his high as much as he could. Though, in all honesty, he could probably get the best/worst high of his life if he just hit the narcotics hard with a few gallons of beer.


	5. Saturation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick's finally broken down. He's tired of waiting. And while his son-in-law and daughter seem oblivious, the kids know better. Though after this, they probably wish they didn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter was a filler, unfortunately, because I was thinking this one would be a little bit of a jump. From now on, chapters will be updated weekly, on Friday evenings. I'll keep working on the chapters, and if I happen to be a little behind, I'll post the chapter as soon as I can. Thanks for reading, as always!

For hours now, Rick had kept the door to the garage locked, with him shut inside, and smoke wafting out through the cracks in the door frame. Everybody tried to ignore the obvious, but everybody had a limit. He had started in the house, but Jerry hit his pretty soon, and had Rick pushed out to the garage within ten minutes, but that almost made it worse, with the door to his room wide open to allow the heavy scented smoke to disperse throughout the house. Morty even smelled it in his room upstairs. It worried him, sure, but he tried to stay relaxed. Rick hadn't gone near any drugs in a long time, so maybe for tonight it would be okay. ...Maybe a quick check wouldn't hurt either. 

Morty rushed down the stairs, quick as a bullet, but hovered at the door. He eventually decided to listen before going in, just in case Rick had some kind of raging fit. It wasn't exactly characteristic, but it wasn't an impossibility, either. Morty put his ear against the door, only to jump back at the sudden sound of glass shattering. The keyhole was too small to have a large view, but maybe he could see what was going on. At first, his eye burned, but Morty simply resorted to blinking often. As expected, no sign of the mad inventor, but Morty could see plenty of bottles and cans of beer and hard liquor strewn about the space. Not an unusual sight, but still disturbing. Soon enough, Summer had joined him with an ear against the door. Both teens heard their grandfather mumbling as he smoked and snorted and did whatever else. 

"What do you think Grampa is doing in there?"  
"I dunno. Summer, I'm getting worried. What if... Rick's been acting really weird lately, what if he's in, like, an existential crisis or something?"  
"I thought that meant that old people went crazy." Morty slammed his palm against his forehead. "N-no, Summer! It means he's trying to find a meaning for his life! I don't know if he's in the right shape to be going through that alone..." With a disgusted noise, Summer deftly swung the door open and back closed again, to keep too much smoke from getting out. 

It wasn't exactly clear in the garage, though. The whole room was hazy, and Rick sat in the middle of it, casually smoking some weird stuff from a bag as if nothing else was happening. Every now and again, he'd smile and giggle at nothing, before inhaling more narcotic. For the moment, he faced the teens, but his eyes were glassy, unfocused, and rife with bold blood vessels, contrasting sharply to the sclera. Everything was in shambles, between the machinery on his desk, the bottles and cans on the floor, and the bags sitting next to him. One had even fallen over, revealing a clear bag of neon green powder, along with three others with bright mauve crystals. Morty recognized them as the killaxian crystals Rick got his insane two-minute high off of. For a moment, it was as if the door hadn't been opened at all. The elder just sat, eyes glazed, still smiling and smoking. "Rick!"

Finally, his head tilted, acknowledging the presence of the kids. "Oh-oh, oh, oh hey kids. C-Comin' to see - URRP - good old Grampa Rick, huh? W-Well y-y-y-you gotta hafta wait, kinda...kinda busy. So-so if you could...dunno-" Rick shrugged and took a gulp of alcohol, already forgetting the rest of the sentence. He was waaaaay too drugged to be talking. Or probably anything aside from sleeping, at this point. But he didn't care. Never really did. After bringing the glass away from his mouth, Rick shook it, sloshing around the small layer of booze within. He stared for a second, then smashed the bottle on the desk. Summer and Morty both let out short shrieks of fear as glass shards flew into his arm, but only a few penetrated both the lab coat and the long sleeved shirt beneath to get to the skin. One or two specks of dark red showed through the dirty sleeve, leaving a shattered bottle in his hand, which Rick brought down on his arm. Rather than screaming in pain, or even groaning, like a man with sanity would probably do, Rick just chuckled. "H-hey, kids, wh-what're ya-what, what're you doin'? N-Now's really...reeeeeaaaly not a good time. C-could ya, could ya clear out? Li-like now?" 

Both teenagers stared in horror at the bloody mess staining the lab coat in a dark shade of red, which Rick seemed to either ignore or be oblivious to. Either way, he bled profusely through his clothes, saturating them quickly and leaking out onto the desk. "R-Rick! Why would you do that?!! What the hell is wrong with you?!" The bloodshot eyes glanced down at the blood-soaked cloth and widened, as if he hadn't realized that he'd stuck a few dozen jagged splinters into his arm. "H-holy shiiiit... What the fuck happened to - URGH - my beer...?" 

"Grampa, you stabbed yourself! Why would you do that, doesn't it hurt?!"  
"C-course not, Su-Su-URRRRGH-Summer, if I stabbed myself, don't you think I-RRRRGH-I'd be fe-feeling it?" With the drugged statement, Rick wrenched the jagged bottle from his flesh, still staring incredulously at the torn and bloodied fabric. Morty and Summer both took deep breaths, relieved to have the issue resolved quickly. But the relief was short-lived. The scientist now dragged the spiked glass across his forehead, giggling at the numb tickling sensation. Summer snatched the bottle away and threw it across the room. "Grampa!! Stop it! This isn't healthy!" Rick stammered and stuttered gibberish for a moment, attempting to stand as he did so, until he began to gag and wretch, chest heaving. Another minute of that continued without anything being expelled. Rick shook his head, dizzied from the motion. 

"Y-yeah, it sure is-IGGGGHH-n't."  
"Jesus, Rick, she's not kidding! Look at how much you're bleeding! C-c'mon, we need to go inside and get that patched!" Morty grabbed his grandfather's arm and started to tug him to the door. Rick put up resistance, but for as many drugs as he'd taken in the past few hours, he didn't actually have much strength to pull back with. "M-M-Morty! You, y-you better back off, Morty! G-Gonna - URP - gonna start puking, Mo-RRGGGGH-ty!" There was too much shock. Going from heavy odors of narcotics to relatively clean air wasn't awfully nice to his body, but neither were the forces on his body. Morty had to sharply tug Rick every step to the bathroom, and every time he did, Rick would pull back, jerking himself around like a rag doll. It soon became too much to handle. His body was starting now to shut down, and by the time Morty had taken care of the self-inflicted wounds, Rick was passed out, left to drift in his thoughts.


	6. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, that was a little hectic, a little traumatizing. But hey. At least Rick is fine now. Though it might be a bad sign that it's only the calm before the storm...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, wow, this is already way more popular than I thought it would be!! Thanks for all 132 hits and the 7 kudos everybody!!! Anyway, please enjoy, as per usual.

Rick was awake the next morning, but he had a raging headache. He rubbed his forehead as he rose up - it pounded like a half ton mallet was being taken to his head. Fuck, it hurt. He also couldn't quite remember everything that had happened the night before, but the bandages he brushed over gave him an idea. Rick sat in his bed for an hour or so, light-headed and dizzy, then finally pushed himself out of bed. Standing only made it worse, but Rick could smell a platter of greasy bacon and fried eggs, and he sure as hell wouldn't be missing either of those. Rick reached for his lab coat, but it was nowhere to be found. He didn't want to spend too much time on it and suffer the consequences of cold eggs and hard, brittle bacon, so Rick didn't pay any more mind to it. A quick stretch was all he needed before he walked out to be greeted by the savory aroma of breakfast. Damn, Beth was a good cook. Too bad her skills were wasted on an idiot like Jerry...

Speaking of which, Jerry was sitting at the table alongside Summer and Beth, but Morty was nowhere to be found. Maybe he'd had some weird itch to get to school early. Rick sat at his usual spot and wordlessly began to shovel food in his mouth. He hadn't realized the insane hunger pangs running through him until he'd sat down. Beth and Jerry hadn't known about the events of the night before, but Summer anxiously glanced at Rick every minute or two. She wasn't sure if her grampa remembered what had gone down last night, and he seemed fine, but she promised Morty that she'd watch the alchie until she went to school. Morty had been so distressed that he couldn't sleep well, and as a result, he decided to call in to school sick. Summer thought that it was strange for Morty to be so upset over something like this, but Rick was a bit closer to him, so...maybe she was just overthinking it and her brother just needed to stop being a pussy. Yeah. That was a good idea.

After eating almost a third of the food his daughter had made, Rick finally cared to examine the bandages under his sleeve and on his forehead, just as Summer was leaving for school with Jerry and Beth left for work. They were wrapped tightly, so he felt a tinge of anxiety as he began to unwrap the dressing, more so as they became saturated with blood after only a layer or two. When they were off, the wound beneath was an odd one. Perhaps 'ones' would be a better description. The flesh on his arm was rended in a circular pattern of apparent slashes and stabs. Disconcerting, to say the least. Rick was sure that the blood-caked ugliness on his arm was also beneath the bandages wrapped around his right temple. Now, though, he had to wonder, who would bother doing something so extensive just for him? Certainly not his grandkids. And Rick was sure that he passed out before the night was over, with the wounds still open. 

Despite the lingering question, it didn't stay in his mind for very long. Beth had asked him to check on Morty every few hours while he stayed in the house, so Rick wanted to just get the one check over with so he could get back to working on the cyborg rat. It was still unfinished, but that didn't mean the AI couldn't activate. Rick mounted the steps two at a time - easy enough with his long, slender legs - and flung open the door to Morty's room where his grandson laid in his bed, staring with wide eyes at the ceiling. "H-hey, you still sick? 'C-cause I got a -RRRRGGGH - cyberrat sitting in the garage and I might need you to help me out, Morty. ...Morty? Hey, i-i-if you'd rather sit up here, Morty, y'know, be a bum, go ahead, bu-but I don't want you being one of those people, Morty, y'know?"  
"Y-yeah, Rick. ...Alright, I'll help. I got your coat stitched up as well as I could. It's over on th-on the closet door." Morty extended an arm to point at the lab coat, hanging on the handle to his small closet as he'd said. Rick gave a small 'huh', walked over, and slipped it on over his shirt. "Well, g-get your ass to the garage. Can't be waiting for you all day, M-Morty."

In all honesty, the teen had hoped that Rick wouldn't ask him for anything for another couple of hours. Morty didn't want to go back into the garage and smell a flood of drugs he didn't even know. But, knowing Rick, he'd drag him along if he was needed, whether he liked it or not. With his grandfather already downstairs, Morty slipped on some pants and followed Rick. Unsurprisingly, he had stopped to pull out some beer from the fridge, though Morty wondered if there was any left after last night. Apparently there was, at least a bottle of it. A partial bottle, as he saw it downed within a moment and then thrown into the garbage. Morty kept a very watchful eye on Rick once they got into the improv laboratory, considering what he'd seen the night before.

Surprisingly enough (to Rick at least), the whole garage was clean. As if it never happened. In fact, it was hard to tell if it really had happened at all. His mind was always fuzzy after nights like those. That's why he wanted the high. Why he needed it. It was just about the only thing that let him forget. Forget the years of neglect, of pain, of heartbreak. All behind him, and all washed out and blended together. Rick sat at his desk, as per the usual routine, rummaging around his desk for the latest project. He did it for a moment or two before realizing the half-torn open cyborg rat was beginning to beep and blip in the corner. "Shit, gotta get this done, Morty! Hand me a flathead, a 2 millimeter socket, and...uh...w-welder, hurry it up!"

Morty quickly fetched the tools in order, setting them gently down on the work table where Rick could grab them. Rick, the genius that he was, finished the little robotic rodent in a few minutes. Morty maintained a cautious eye on his grandfather, but still worried. Despite the new attitude and adjustment from the night before, Morty had to wonder. What could have happened for Rick to be so self-destructive? What...

What if it was his fault?


	7. Times Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here we take a look at the wondrous oddities of the life of a Rick. C-137's is...not exactly happy. Oops.

"Rick, how could you?!"  
"How could I! Alicia, they're as much my family as you and Bethy! How could I not?!"  
"Obviously you had a choice! Beth told me when you left last month!"  
"Oh, so now it's a crime to love my only child?!! I'm sorry I wanted her to know that I'd come back!"

Teen Beth stood behind a corner while her parents went back and forth about this thing and that. She thought that her dad had said something before leaving... But, then again, she supposed that he also wouldn't have come into her room at about 2 in the morning if he'd said something to her mom. Poor Dad... It always felt like her mom hated him, even more when he came home from...well, from what he called work. There was a loud clatter - she knew that her mother was beginning to rage - and thought that she should go back to her room. Before she got more than a few steps, there was a hand on her shoulder. Beth froze, daring to look up, and instantly feeling her heart sink at the sight of her father. 

Rick had dark circles under his eyes, his normally clean and well-groomed powder-blue hair was unkempt and disheveled, and his lab coat - that thing, he loved it to bits - it was wrinkled, torn in a few spots, and had quite a number of stains. And being so close, he reeked of alcohol. Something that had become commonplace as of late. "Beth, I'm...gonna go out for a bit. Wanna go grab a sandwich?" Looking over her dad's shoulder, Beth could see her mom, who was visibly shaking and glaring, not necessarily at her, but in her direction. She looked back to her dad and nodded. Rick put on a small smile for his daughter, knowing fully well how horrible this must be on Beth.

"Alright, Bethy, sweetie, let's get out of this hell hole for a bit."   
"And where the hell do you think you're taking my child?" Rick ignored his wife, instead putting his arm around Beth's shoulders as they walked out the door. In the car was dead silence. Rick knew he'd have to say something. Beth wasn't stupid. Of course she wasn't, she was his kid. He'd have to say something about the impending divorce. And ask the one thing that would probably hurt the most, for all of them. He didn't really want to. He wanted Beth to be happy. He wanted Alicia to be happy, too. But all the chaos...all the absence...all the fighting. He couldn't keep up with it all. Even for a guy as brilliant as himself, he was just that. One guy.

They went to a drive-through at a fast-food restaurant in the middle of town. Rick let Beth have whatever greasy, calorie-packed thing she liked - something he knew her mother would flip out about if she knew - and silently paid for it. Then he drove out to a nice place in the middle of nowhere, somewhere he and Beth had found when they first started going out like this. It was just a hill, with a massive, old evergreen standing as sentry, watching over the growth of the shrubs and little deciduous trees below, with a growing pecan tree as its apprentice beside it. It was something Rick had planted himself after leaving home.

Now it served as a little base. A safe place. Beth loved it. The clean air, the woodsy smell, the soft grass that grew around the two trees... But now it all seemed stiff and meaningless. Rick sighed, motioning for her to get out before him. Beth did so, taking the food she'd ordered with her and sitting with her back against the growing pecan. Rick wasn't too far behind, leaning against the mighty fir with a heavy sigh. "Beth...I know you aren't exactly as smart as me, but...I think you know that we need to talk. It's some pretty heavy stuff, so I understand if you don't want to deal with it right now, but-"  
"No, Dad. It's...it's fine."  
"Okay. Well then, before anything else is said, I need to ask - would you be willing to stay with me or your mother, and only one of us, until you turn eighteen?"

\-----

"C-c'mon, guys, th-th-the hell's the matter with yo-you?"  
"Hey, man, you're gettin' a little squanchy with the booze, there, Rick. Maybe ya wanna...squanch off a bit?"  
"I concur with Squanchie, Rick. You are becoming increasingly intoxicated, to possibly harmful levels."  
"Y-you two don' know wh-what'cha talkin' about..." Rick downed another bottle of Hennesy in an effort to drown out the events of the past week. It was his tenth major battle against the gromflomites in the span of a few months, and the killing had seemed to have done a number on him. When they'd fleed from the battlefield, it took Rick almost thirty minutes to clean himself up. Squanchie and Bird Person didn't mind, but they were concerned. 

Rick was just out of a nasty marriage, but that was all he'd mentioned about it. Being close friends and knowing how Rick was, they didn't question any further. It was the way they operated. It didn't bother them. Not until now, at least. Still, this was Rick. The great Sanchez. The Almighty Gromflomite Slayer (drunkenly and self-proclaimed). He wouldn't be so distraught just over a simple divorce, right? ...Right? ...Squanchie and Bird Person were never the type to accept maybes and what ifs. "Rick, if there is something that troubles you in any way, you know you are free to mention them as you wish." Rick pretended not to hear, favoring the whispers coming from nowhere telling him how good it was that he was completely detached. 

They were always so soft and calming in spite of the nasty words they vomited at him. "Uh...Rick? How about we squanch outta here? We can go find some nicer ladies than these squanches at this place downtown, I'm tellin' ya-"  
"Hey, Squanchie? Shut up. I just got away from a woman. I don't wanna go back to 'em." Rick felt his eyelids drooping, threatening to shut and for him to be at the mercy of whoever walked by. But he almost didn't care. In fact, he really didn't. Sure, he could get kidnapped. Sure, he could be stuck in a hole to be tortured and interrogated. But what did it matter? He had no friends, no real home, no family. Nothing to call his own but a portal gun and a near-worthless badge.

A few ladies walked over, each holding a tray of glasses win varying drinks inside. "Which of you is San...Sannez? Sanchez?"  
"Apologies, but Rick is unable to have any alcohol at this time."  
"Well someone better pay for it. I've got another table's worth of drinks here to deliver." Rick squinted, and though it was difficult to discern with all the alcohol coursing through his system, he could see that the girls all had the exact same shade of iris color, a bright, pastel yellow. "H-hey, I-I'm Sanchez. Who're you three?" The girl in front of them started to turn her head in apparent confusion, but he noticed the other two start as well. "There's only one of me, and-"  
"You're a hive mind, right?"

The three girls began to tremble slightly. "I...I can't believe you'd say something like that. I'm no parasite."  
"You - URP - you can cut the act. I'm not gonna turn yo-turn you in or anything. Just poi-pointing out...you and your o-other hosts all have th - UUUGH - same eyes." The waitress quickly set the glass down and hurried off, with the other two following close behind. "Nice squanchin' Ricky! Didn't think those broads would be hiveys...especially not in a squanch like this." Rick chuckled and hiccuped, quite proud of himself. "Oh boy...I think you might wanna...um..." Before Squanchie could finish, the three girls were quickly fitting themselves into the booth alongside Rick, though they were more than a little cramped with Squanchie and Bird Person there.

So one of the hive members placed herself in Rick's lap. "Rick, is it? Well, cutie, how much do you know about collectives?"  
"I'm sure I know enough to make you happy, if you happen to have a bed nearby."


	8. Just Another Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something dying?  
> Rick doesn't care.
> 
> Someone screaming about a bomb?   
> Rick doesn't care.
> 
> Someone trying to do him some good?   
> Rick doesn't care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the late update, I haven't been writing a lot, so I think I'm gonna hiatus for a while. Only for a weeks or 2, so I can get some more writing done.

Just like in that bar all those years ago. This was nothing new - getting jacked up on drugs, probably to the point of overdose, and, by some quirk of fate, he passed out or someone stopped him before it went too far. That phrase was something disgusting. What was considered 'too far'? Who had any right to say what was going 'too far'? Morty and Summer certainly didn't. They wouldn't get in his way twice. If he overdosed and died, it was for his own reasons. Their conviction to keep him alive and in their lives was just a primitive planetary concept meant to keep a social structure and leadership intact. Rick being Rick, though, he didn't agree. He would do as he pleased, die as he pleased, and go to hell however he damn well pleased. If his family didn't like it? So fucking be it. That was their problem. Not his. Never...

"...-u okay? Rick? Rick!" Someone was violently shaking his shoulder. The high-pitched squeaking... 'Morty', he thought with a groan. That little turd. He cared too much, got too attached. Couldn't let things go quickly or easily. Which meant he was all too happy to make a suffering thing like him linger for countless pain-filled hours, days, weeks, whatever. Rick shook his head, rubbing his temple as he tried to clear his vision. Everything was blurred into subtle shapes and smudges of color, all smeared into a big blob of abstract nothingness. 

The mad inventor rubbed his eyes, which allowed him to at least distinguish a few larger shapes from the rest, like the ship, the shelf across the room, and Morty. There was still nothing distinct, but it wasn't as blurry as it had been. "Wh-whuh, whuh-wuzzat Morty? What'dya, what'dya need l-little - URP - stupid?"  
"Already?! Rick, I thought you said you'd lay off! Th-that's it! That's it, Rick! I'm, I'm, I'm taking it and I'm gonna make a-a-a big bonfire out back!" Most of what Morty kept going on about didn't register. Rick was more concentrated on watching the half-robot rodent, which sniffed and waddled around, oblivious to the conversation.

Lucky thing. It's ears heard the sound but they made no sense to it. If only he could make it share the pain. But no matter what he did, the brain was either that of a rodent or that of a robot, and neither registered human words. Lucky bastard. Morty just kept droning on and on, just like his dad. Stupid Jerry. Made Morty dumber than a bag of hammers. This one, anyway. His words were starting to phase in and out, so Rick figured he should try to stop him. "H-hey, M-Morty? Y-y'know, I can always go get more. The-then we're both just wasting time." Morty glared at his still-drunk grandfather. He couldn't believe Rick! What was wrong with him?! He was being so stupid lately, regarding his actions. Maybe it was the date.

His grandmother was going to come over soon, and though nobody had told Rick, Morty knew that he would be bound to find out sooner or later. In case he didn't know, though, he just kept his mouth shut. "Okay Rick, you win! Y-y-you, you can just, just stay in here! Forever! See what we care!" Despite what he said, Morty stood, rooted to the spot, for a few minutes with no response. Eventually Rick turned to Morty, giving him a questioning look. He motioned to the open door, inviting Morty to leave. 

The teen shook his head, mentally berating himself as he walked out. 'Rick can rot for all I care,' he told himself, but Morty knew he didn't mean it. Rick was the only friend he had. Pushing him wouldn't do either of them any good. But of course, Morty and his thinking, he thought that if Rick didn't care, he could stop caring too. Poor misguided Morty.


End file.
